


collected drabbles

by winterwinds



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, F/M, Friendship, Future Fic, Hurt/Comfort, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-05-02
Updated: 2012-05-22
Packaged: 2017-11-04 17:42:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/396459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterwinds/pseuds/winterwinds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a collection of drabbles that I've posted on my tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. blanket

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the prompt _Gendry finds out it's Arya's birthday_ by finnickscleverfingers at tumblr. This is a bit AU when it comes to the timeline.

Hot Pie is complaining.

Arya successfully manages to block out whatever it is that Hot Pie isn't happy with, because she feels like it's enough having her own troubles to constantly mull over.

 _How do I get home, if Yoren is dead?_ she thinks sadly and continues with drawing figures in the mud with a stick, her heart heavy as lead.

Gendry is gathering firewood nearby, also silent and thoughtful, while Lommy's just agreeing to whatever it is Hot Pie is saying, ever a faithful comrade in arms.

"And don't even get me started on name-days! How will we ever know we're a year older if we're just, well, on the road like this?" Hot Pie's voice cuts through her thoughts and Arya sighs, resisting the urge to throw a rock in his direction just because she can.

"But I know what day it is!" Lommy exclaims and for some reason, Arya looks up, suddenly interested. She had loved celebrating name-days; last one being Sansa's, she and Bran had surprised her with a cake outside her chamber she had stepped on. The memory makes her smile.

"Do you? How d'you know?" Hot Pie asks, the tone in his voice changing unmistakebly. Gendry crouches a few yards behind them; he seems to feel her gaze on him because he meets her eyes and smiles.

"I've kept track ever since we left King's Landing," Lommy says proudly and announces the day, to which Arya's heart stops for a fraction of a second. _Has it really been that long since we left King's Landing?_ she thinks and again, sadness fills her.

"My name-day's tomorrow," she says without really thinking, the thought escaping her lips and when they all turn quiet she realizes they've heard her.

"Is it really?" Hot Pie asks with a smile, but one Arya can't return.

This time, it's Gendry looking her way, but she doesn't meet his questioning eyes. Instead, she stands and walks away.

-

She doesn't walk far, only far enough for them not to hear her cry, but tears wouldn't come, so Arya hides behind a lone oak tree by a little pond, thinking she'll return when they've fallen asleep. It feels sad, mostly because name-days are supposed to be a day of celebration; of her mother waking her up with a peck on her cheek; her father hugging her tightly a second longer than usual; her siblings to mess her hair up and tease her and for her Septa to not reprimand her like usual - but it's all gone.

Arya didn't usually allow herself to linger far too long on the past, knowing that she had to keep going, not only for her sake, but for the four of them and so, with newfound resolution to not let it bother her, she returns to their camp where Hot Pie and Lommy are sound asleep beside each other on one side of the fire, and where Gendry's keeping watch.

He looks up when he hears her approaching, and doesn't look surprised, only relieved. "Thought you might've run off," he says and looks at her earnestly.

"You know I wouldn't," she replies and he lowers his head, turns to the fire. "I'll keep watch, you should get some sleep."

She wants to say something kind, only to show that they matter to her, all three of them, but that was always Sansa's forte; she's no good with words, never was, and doesn't feel like she needs to perfect that art soon either. She lies down on the cold, hard ground, allowing herself to remember the feeling of a featherbed beneath her, back at Winterfell. Arya tries to make herself comfortable on the cold, hard ground but as ever, it's never possible.

"Here," Gendry says from behind her and Arya turns to him, wondering what he's referring to. He has a blanket in his hand, offering it to her.

"Where'd you find that?" she says and her eyes go wide. He chuckles.

"Hot Pie's been keeping it for himself, but when I found it I told him we should give it to you. As a present, for your name-day." He looks sheepish, but Arya smiles genuinely.

"Thank you."


	2. we don't belong here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written for the prompt _court fringes_ by onlywhenwerealone at tumblr. This is set in the future.

"Let's run away," he says, the seriousness in his eyes taking her off guard. It surprises Arya that this question - _question?_ \- would come from his lips rather than hers. It's something she would blurt when she'd had enough with uncomfortable dresses and giggling handmaids and _expectations_. It surprises her because he would never suggest something like this if he wasn't really bothered about something.

"What's going on?" she asks because she knows him; it's been years and years since they first began their journey north. Years since she returned from Braavos. She feels old, worn; feels like she might have dreamt her entire life. But he's the same. Her one anchor to reality.

"I just hate being here," he says and she frowns. He's big and broad and silent; the fact that anything can bother him makes her wonder how well she truly knows him.

"You've been listening to old gossip about - about your father?"

Gendry lowers his face, looks down at the hammer in his hand, weighing the tool. He seems to be contemplating how to put into words his next sentence. The Queen had long since pardoned Gendry for his parentage, but he had not chosen legitimization. It had never mattered to Arya that he was base-born; and he had long since accepted the fact, that while she might have been born to be a lady, she never would be and that worked just fine with him. But being at court always seemed to bring out insecurities in him. Arya mentally cursed Sansa for dragging them with her to court.

"I just don't like it here," he says and continues, meeting her gaze again, "Let's just go someplace else - anywhere. Just come with me." It's a request and his eyes are pleading. He doesn't belong anywhere near court; and neither does she. Sansa'll hate her a moon turn or two; then she'll forgive her.

"Let's go, then," she says and smiles. Gendry drops the hammer and scoops her up in his arms, kissing her. This is where she belongs, right here.


	3. and how you move me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for the prompt _ballroom dancing_ by anon.

Gendry had no idea what made him enter the castle walls, knew he should keep to the forgery. But he was curious, above else, and he hadn't seen her all day.  
  


*

"Must I?" she asked exasperatedly, for a second wishing she was back in Bravoos with a dagger in hand, rather than clad in a woolen gown her sister had convinced her to wear.

Sansa looked adamant, wouldn't change her mind for anything in the world. "I know you hate this, Arya, and that's perfectly fine; but you know I wouldn't ask this of you if it wasn't important. And it is - so please, just do this for me."

Arya remembered a time when she'd throw something at her sister for making her do something she was _expected_ to do. But it was years past; and having lost Sansa once - having lost all of her family once - she never meant to do it again.

"If I do this, this one time, you'll never ask it of me again, am I right?" It wasn't so much a question, rather a statement.

"If you do this now, you'll never have to again, because you'll have learned it already." Her sister pecked her on the cheek affectionately, and Arya - no matter how much she'd later complain - was happy to be right where she was.

*

The music filled every crevice and corner of the rebuilt stronghold. Gendry, a southron, never would've thought he'd like it this far north; but he knew the reason that made him feel right at home, even if he'd never admit it.

The music stopped abruptly and Gendry could hear Septa Leonore's sigh all the way to where he was standing, by the entrance to the Great Hall. "Arya dear, you're not meant to lead, you're meant to follow!"

Gendry had to stifle a chuckle at that. He hid behind the heavy oak door and looked at the scene before him. Arya was fuming, reminding him very much of the little boyish girl he'd first befriended all those years ago. Septa Leonore was demonstrating the dance and Arya was looking daggers at the old but energetic woman.

"Have I mentioned I don't want to be here?" she said and again, Septa Leonore sighed.

"Music, please."

*

She sought him out, knew she'd find him with a hammer in hand, next to the blazing embers.

"Well, well, look who the cat dragged in," he said and put down the tool, wiping his brow and looking at her.

Arya frowned. "You'll never guess what they made me do today," she said and hated the fact that she couldn't seem to keep anything from him.

Gendry looked smug, like he knew a secret even she wasn't privy to. "Oh, I know," he replied with a big smile and Arya's heart increased its pace.

"Don't you tell me -" she began but Gendry cut her off by starting to laugh heartedly. If she hadn't been so mad, she'd think she loved the sound of his laugh.

"You stupid - you -"

"You looked real pretty in that dress, I must say," he said and she grabbed a tiny stone from the ground and threw it his way. She turned around, was about to stalk off, when she felt his grip - firm, but gentle all the same - on her wrist.

"Hey," he said and she stopped because that was all it took for her to remain right next to him; a lingering touch, or maybe just the confirmation that he liked her just the way she was (all temper and messy hair and breeches where other girls wore dresses). She didn't meet his gaze, _wouldn't_ meet his gaze, but warmth spread like wild fire throughout her body from where he'd touched her and she marvelled at the warmth he always seemed to exuberate; where she was all winter, he was summer.

"How about you teach me how to dance, and I'll be right there with you on the day your sister marries?" he asked and she looked up at him, his blue eyes piercing beneath his mop of jetblack hair. It wasn't the first time Arya wondered how much he truly knew about her, secrets about herself barely she was aware of.

"Doesn't sound so bad," she said and, hesitating a fraction of a second before realizing that he wouldn't mind, brushed her lips lightly against his.  



	4. so long since i last saw you, barely remember you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for the prompt _a jealous Gendry_ by j-dempsie at tumblr.

He can see the desire plainly in the pale eyes of Anguy; the look he is giving her sends a jolt of anger throughout his body, anger directed at his fellow brother, and he has the sudden urge to grab Arya and create thousands and thousands of leagues between the both of them and the Brotherhood.  
  
Arya had been back not yet a fortnight, and the Brotherhood had returned a week after; they had all taken turns embracing her, all telling her of how they had all looked for her until the story of the Red Wedding reached them and they assumed her dead. Arya hadn't said much at that; she hadn't said much at all really, since coming back, and Gendry had been enveloped by a feeling of sadness at the loss of the little boyish girl who'd once been his very best friend.  
  
Arya pretends like she doesn't notice the way Anguy leans into her a little too closely than he normally would if not drunk on Dornish red; but he knows she's aware of what's happening. She's different in so many ways he hadn't even recognized her when she'd finally reappeared at the inn after years and years, still petite, but not a gangly girl of one-and-ten, but a woman grown. And her eyes, _her eyes_ ; stormy and ancient, as unmoveable as mountains, colder than ice.  
  
 _She's gone_ , he'd thought as she had flung her arms around him and he'd breathed in her scent.  
  
He's observing them across the table, a feeling in his gut quite unrecognizable, when he suddenly realizes he's jealous. Every fibre of his being is straining to keep still and not punching Anguy in the face for looking at her like that. No one should be looking at her, at _Arya_ , like that. _No one except me_ , the thought comes unbidden and he ignores it.  
  
Gendry wants to be the one she's paying attention to, wants to be the one she's telling her stories to, realizes he doesn't really know the girl sitting across from him, hates the fact that she's been avoiding him.  
  
Anguy whispers something in her ear, but Arya remains unfazed, eyes vacant, features soft. She nods at whatever it is Anguy has suggested and they both rise simultaneously, walking off someplace more private. His eyes follow them and Gendry doesn't know if he can take it, curses himself for feeling like this, because what is she to him if not a stranger?  
  
No one seems to have noticed their abscence, but it's a pressing truth to Gendry  - the fact that they're alone together somewhere - and he downs the remains of the wine in one angry gulp and then stands on two unsteady legs. He doesn't care that what he's about to do is stupid and will cause more trouble than it's worth, but he will not - _can not_ \- let anything happen between them.  
  
Gendry hears voices by the barn, but it grows suddenly quiet and Gendry's worst fear come alive. He sees Anguy kiss her and every particle of his being is aflame. He means to put an end to it when he notices the dagger she has to his throat.  
  
"I'm not stupid, Anguy," she says and the lad whimpers. "I want you to tell all your brothers to keep dreaming of ever so much as laying a hand on me; 'cause if any of you try, I'll cut your fingers off when you sleep."  
  
Gendry can't help but smile. Just like that, she's back.


End file.
